


Morning Thoughts

by obiwanken5



Category: Star Wars: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-14
Updated: 2007-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obiwanken5/pseuds/obiwanken5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face waxes poetic on Dia, Post-Saffalore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 Rogues/Wraiths Fic-A-Thon, this goes out to tabbinivy. She asked for Face/Dia, no fluff and a setting of some place during the X-Wing Series. Not sure how I fared on the no-fluff thing, since everyone has different definitions of it and for some reason Face wanted to be poetic and verbose rather than touchy-feely, so you get a different kind of Face/Dia.

The pre-dawn hours were Face's favourite. It wasn't just the promise of a new day, but more the fact that he had a little time to enjoy feeling peace and contentment before the dangers and stresses of being a pilot pressed in on him once more. It was a time when he was finally unwound from the previous day's cares; he had been handed a datapad that had been wiped clean. He had another day of life. In the lucidity of the early morning, Face's thoughts always ran through memories of the last year, some happy, some sad. He replayed all the instances that made him smile, took the hit from the instances that caused him pain. In the end, he had always come to the conclusion that he would have had life no other way. As much as his missed his best friend, and the other pilots who had carried the name Wraith, he would exchange nothing to have them back. It would dishonour their memory and their sacrifices, and he'd be damned if he let that happen.

And, inevitably, his ruminations always came to rest on the woman who held his heart. That Dia Passik, a creature of deadly grace and poise, had a side capable of such deep feelings had startled him once. From the moment she had joined the squadron, Face had had her pegged as one schooled in the art of deception and inflicting bodily harm. That she had professed such a disdain for his prior vocation, the one-time actor had to admit that it was nice not being associated or admired for a time in his life he'd love to forget, sooner rather than later if at all possible. He had taken the good-natured jibes from the others, combating them with his own reserve of sarcasm and witty commentary, but he found that the banter always made him want to push away from the group, instead of embracing them as comrades. Even Janson's offer of trading his Endor patch for an autographed copy of Face's library of holovids couldn't get him to lighten up deep down inside. No matter how unconsciously, Dia's detachment drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

He and Dia shared a bond that no one could know. Both had had to face, fight and overcome childhood demons during the course of their tenure with the Wraiths. Both had lost the final vestiges of innocence that had clung to them. Both had been forced to grow up, Face by the death of Ton Phanan, and Dia by the death of Castin Donn. It was tough, saying goodbye to old grievances and heartaches, letting guilt and regret finally burn up in the hard vacuum of a healed heart. A touch of a smile plays over the pilot's lips as he realizes that the act of reform was galvanized by a final jab from beyond the grave, in the form of Phanan's admonishment to _let the past go, you sodding moron, or I pledge my loyalty to a no-good hack!_ Ton would always be his hero.

He likes to think that he did the same for Dia, as he prevented her from pulling the trigger and made her see that her actions had saved them all. She had shot a dead man, and was in no way responsible for his death. She had played the part given to her and had risen to the occasion. That it had been that single act that had finally broken her, when years of mistreatment at the hands of slavers could do nothing but spur a young girl to kill...it was heartbreaking, yes. But it showed a depth of heart and soul that had moved Face; Dia had been willing to take down any and all that proved to be her enemy and feel no remorse over it, yet when it came to desecrating the body of a friend she couldn't do it, would never do it. But she had, and in so doing, gave them all a second chance to strike at the real murderers.

United by grief - and a gentle push and cunningly conceived plan by Lara and Wes - Dia and Face had found the means in which to rebuild. A tentative romance blossomed into a deep affection and mutual respect. In no way was it hindered by the conventions dictated by military protocol; the forced discretion made it all the sweeter, but it carried with it a depth of anguish that Face had to overcome with each and every mission. He had to put his feelings for Dia away, needed to quell the instinct that demanded he protect her and only her. His first thought needed to be the squadron as a whole, and the responsibility of command weighed heavily when his team, his friends, were given the ass-kicking of a lifetime. This last mission had been a real test of his ability to focus on the big picture. With Dia's help and reassurance that she was battered, bruised, and breathing, with a single nod of affirmation that carried a ton of meaning, he found that the balance between personal and professional was quite doable.

Being given the chance to hold her was a bitter-sweet victory, when put up against the cost of escaping a death trap; two members soaking in bacta, everyone else medicated to within an inch of their lives was more than enough recompense for daring to live another day. And this is what Face always concluded in the pre-dawn hours, as he held Dia in his arms, revelling in the feel of her body pressed to his: To be granted another twenty-four hours of life to spend living, loving and bonding was the greatest gift that could be bestowed upon the galaxy for which they fought, and every scrape, broken bone and death in the line of duty was a small price to pay. If it meant that someone else could look back on life in the early hours of the morning and be grateful for the continued chance to make a difference in the world; if it meant that one more family could flourish and grow and have a shot at fulfilling all the hopes and promises of the future, then no price was too high.

And Face would know, as he cherished every moment he was given to stand beside his friends and the woman he loved to do exactly that.


End file.
